The Sun Rises, the Sun Falls
by Doktor Al Meringue
Summary: It isn't often that the men get to appreciate things aside from ammo crates and headshots.


My writing is... off. I've been told I can tell a story well, but as far as detail goes, I need to work on it. Kind of something just to focus on that.

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><p>Warmth. A stark juxtaposition to the frigid air of the cold desert nights that gnawed relentlessly at the flesh, seeping into every vein until the last shred of heat was wrenched from the body. Tendrils of light stretched across the landscape and pained the land in swaths of yellow, blue being pushed away to make way for the lighter cousins, orange, green, pink, finally yielding to the serenity of gold.<p>

"It's beautiful."

The sound was startling, despite the chorus of birds that had provided a lovely accompaniment and eased the soul. The man turned slightly, only to catch the slightest of smirks, and a small tip of the hat from the figure leaning half-heartedly against the safety rail that wasn't as preventative as one might think.

The man couldn't prevent a scoff from escaping his throat. He turned back to the sight- a tricky maneuver indeed, when sitting on the very edge of certain death that was the infamous sniping post.

"You don't know anything about beauty."

"And you do?"

"More than you, at least."

Touch. The man looked up at the figure. Only rarely were the two of them conscious at the same time; even rarer were the instances in which they weren't arguing, if they did so happen to fall into each other's presence. Yet, despite this eternal quarrel, the air remained as still and calming as it should be.

The figure smiled, and leaned against the wooden edge of the sniping post. A soft prediction of that day's weather followed a few moments of silence.

Yes, the man had to agree: it was going to be quite warm, as was the forecast for every day in that area.

A sigh came from both of them, a strange act of serendipity that immediately set paranoid thoughts of mimicry to each. One turned to the other, scowled, and stuck his tongue out.

"Very childlike of ya'."

"Your mother."

Earth now danced with the light, a tango of dominance, one fighting with large, imposing formations to keep the darkness hidden from its nemesis, shelter it; and yet, antithesis still shifted backward, crying out silently under the chorus of fowls set to - and good at - their jobs. The shadows moved back at an awkward angle while trying to keep themselves from the light that wanted to steal it away, as often darkness was accused of doing when the light tired of its daily duties.

Small desert creatures could do nothing but follow the shadows. Lament at its departure. But, firm knowledge kept their spirits high: they'd be back to dance under the moon clad in a dress of shadows in a mere day's time. For now, however, they provided something of a sight for the people at the edge of the cliff. Each couldn't help but smile at the petite lizards skittering under rocks; the coyotes avidly searching for their underground shelter.

Of course, they couldn't be blamed for such action. The orb had taken to the air, broken free of its horizon bonds, and an intense heat followed the lights as if they had only been the red carpet to the actual entertainment to the day.

"And they expect us to fight on days like this." A hand rose up to shield the eyes. He'd forgotten his hat. Stupid boy.

"War is never-ending, mate."

The same hand touched the man's shoulder. He returned with a nod, acknowledging his departure. "Later, Snipes. See you on the field."

"Lookin' forward to killin' ya', mate." The RED member grinned. One last tip of the hat and he began the long decent down the ladder.

"Yeah, well-!" The BLU gave up on the insult. Not like he would hear it, anyway. Eyes rolled back one more time to the mountains, the stretch of land cleared in the middle of the desert used for battle. It looked so out of place: their industrial, white-and-blue building against the rustic red-wood base, placed on either side of a marred stretch of land painted with blood and scorch marks so violent they'd nearly turned the sand to glass.

The third place they'd been shipped to in a month. And after today, a mere relic of the past, for they were set to be stationed in Coldfront in the morning.

"Yeah. Never-ending."

The Scout pulled himself in from the edge of the box. He reached for his bat, placed so that it wouldn't cause third-degree burns as soon as he touched the metal, and snatched up his scattergun and pistol before climbing down the ladder. Ceasefire ended at noon. It was treason, so claimed Soldier, to not be at the spawn point at least an hour before.


End file.
